


The Romantic's Dictionary

by eternalsunshine13



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Before Sunrise Fusion, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Before Midnight AU, Before Sunrise AU, Before Sunset AU, Light Angst, Lost Love, M/M, Skater Katsuki Yuuri, The Lover's Dictionary remix, Writer AU, Writer Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 12:50:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13788129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalsunshine13/pseuds/eternalsunshine13
Summary: A worldwide sensation and soon to be a major motion picture,The Romantic’s Dictionaryhas cemented Victor Nikiforov’s status as the literary voice of his generation. Centered on youthful optimism and possibly the follies of that optimism,The Romantic’s Dictionaryis so much more than a love story. Told through dictionary entries, a nameless narrator recalls his serendipitous meeting with the person he calls “the love of his life.” We spend one night with them wandering the streets of New York City and witness both the mundane and transcendent in what Michiko Kakutani calls “what love actually looks like.”--Boy meets boy. Boy loses boy. Boy finds boy. Now what?





	The Romantic's Dictionary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skowronek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skowronek/gifts).



> A Before Sunrise Trilogy AU, but we're starting with the second movie, Before Sunset. No prior knowledge of the movies are necessary but do yourself a favor and go watch them okay? :)
> 
> Also inspired in part by The Lover's Dictionary by David Leviathan. Highly recommended! 
> 
> Content note: mentions of infidelity, but Victuuri would never, ever cheat on each other, so there won't be any possibility of that here.

_GQ Exclusive: A Conversation With Victor Nikiforov_

By Christophe Giacometti 

A worldwide sensation and soon to be a major motion picture, _The Romantic’s Dictionary_ has cemented Victor Nikiforov’s status as _the_ literary voice of his generation. Centered on youthful optimism and possibly the follies of that optimism, _The Romantic’s Dictionary_ is so much more than a love story. Told through dictionary entries, a nameless narrator recalls his serendipitous meeting with the person he calls “the love of his life.” We spend one night with them wandering the streets of New York City and witness both the mundane and transcendent in what Michiko Kakutani calls “what love actually looks like.” 

Victor was kind enough to sit down with us for a chat, and so I’ll dive right in.

CG: First, thank you, Victor, for taking the time and inviting us into your home. I know you’re about to embark on a months-long tour to promote the paperback edition. 

VN: Thanks, Chris. Makkachin and I are happy to have the company.

CG: I have to confess: I’m a huge fan. In fact, I’ve brought a copy of TRD for you to sign. How unprofessional is that? [ _Laughs_ ]

VN: Quite. [ _Laughs_ ] No, I’m flattered. Honestly I’ve just been so blown away by TRD’s runaway success, and I’m so grateful that it’s resonated with so many people.

CG: There have been stories told through dictionary entries, and the nonlinear format makes it an interesting puzzle to put together, but more than that, I think it’s the two characters at the center. They’re so authentic. Earnest, even. 

VN: Was there a question in there? [ _Laughs_ ] Listen, I’m happy to sit here and be flattered but I’m sure your readers are rolling their eyes just about now.

CG: Alright, alright. Speaking of readers, we put a call out on twitter for questions.

VN: Oh god. Okay, I’m game. 

CG: Many want to know: are _you_ the narrator? There are few biographical details but you have to admit, there are some parallels. He’s an aspiring writer, you’re a writer. His parents are divorced, yours are too. He has a standard poodle, and you have Makkachin.

VN: I’d rather not say. Books—and by extension, characters—belong to their readers, and I want them to have the freedom to imagine the main character however they want.

CG: That’s generous of you. 

VN: It’s how I really feel. And I think that question, which I get at every signing by the way—that question is a bit disingenuous. I don’t think it adds value to the story to know whether it was partly biographical or wholly invented. I think readers who are obsessed with that question are mostly curious about me and my life, and I think the less of me they see or know, the better. And not just for privacy reasons, but because I think the focus should be on the story and not me as a person. 

CG: That’s quite a departure from how you approached your first novel. 

VN: It’s true. I thought of myself more as a commodity then, a “brand” if you will. But it got to the point where I was starting to lose my sense of self, with my public persona bleeding into my actual life. I used to think I _was_ the stories I wanted to tell, if that makes sense? And in a way, I felt this need to reinvent myself again and again for each book, and it was putting a lot of pressure on the writing itself. And you saw the results. The second novel suffered. Finally, I just had to pull back. I think I’ve arrived at a good balance now, but I haven’t been on tour for over a year so we’ll see. [ _Laughs_ ]

CG: Next question’s from me, not twitter. I think I read somewhere that you wrote the first draft of TRD in a week? 

VN: I did, actually. But the revision process took much longer, and even on the day before we went to press, I was still tinkering with it. Quite a few entries were left on the cutting room floor but my editor and I wanted to put out something lean, spare even. I think that’s why it’s gotten the reception it has. It’s been distilled down to only the necessary ingredients, so to speak. 

CG: That’s fascinating. Okay, another twitter question. Do you have a favorite entry? 

VN: [ _Groans_ ]. Don’t make me choose, I love them all. Why don’t you tell me your favorite?

CG: Okay. Quick spoiler alert for our readers, but I don’t think I’m giving the ending away since this entry appears early on and was one that your publisher tweeted. 

_Basis, n._

_“Meet me here again,” you say. “At this exact spot six months from now.” You see the doubt and confusion on my face and you smile gently. “Let’s not share any contact information. I don’t want us to just be penpals and exchange emails that eventually slow to a trickle because life will get in the way like it always does. Meet me here again in six months and let’s really give this a chance.”_

_I’ve only known you for twenty hours. There’s no basis for your confidence or my yearning, but I can’t bear to say no._

VN: That’s a lot of people’s favorite entry. 

CG: A lot of people have used that last line in their wedding vows.

VN: Wow.

CG: The first time I read TRD, I kept flipping back and forth after I reached the end, almost frantic. Do they meet up in six months? Do they? You end up getting to know them so well, they feel like real people you know and you’re just rooting for them, you know?

VN: [ _Nodding_ ] I know, but you know I can’t say anything about that. 

CG: Okay, but give us something here—tell me there’s a sequel in the works? 

VN: [ _Laughs_ ] I don’t know, Chris, I really don’t know. 

CG: Oh god, that’s evil. 

VN: [ _Laughs_ ] I do live to torture my readers. 

CG: I’m glad I’ve exposed you as the monster that you are. 

VN: You got me. 

CG: I’ve barely gotten a single straight answer out of you.

VN: Well, Chris, you know you’ll never get a _straight_ answer out of me. 

CG: [ _Laughs_ ] Is that your way of saying you’re on the market? 

VN: Uhoh, don’t give your readers any ideas. But you’re right, I haven’t exactly been a model interviewee. How about I tell you my favorite entry?

CG: You’ve been holding out on me! You said you didn’t have one.

VN: Well, it changes all the time, but for now:

_This, n., adv., pron.,_

_I never believed in love at first sight. Lust, sure, but not love. But then I see you walk down the aisle and I can’t decide if I want you to sit near me or at the other end of the plane so I can sleep in peace._

_You’re a little frazzled, looking side to side, reading the seat numbers and trying to maneuver around other passengers. Then you stop before me and I swear my heart skips a beat._

_“Oh, I think you’re in my seat,” you say and I feel like an idiot. “But it’s okay, you can stay if you want.” And just like that, you give a total stranger the window seat._

_“No, no,” I say. “Here, let me get out and we can switch.”_

_“It’s fine.” You’re already sitting down, and you flash me a small smile, your eyes warm._

_In that moment, I don’t know what’s in store for us. I have no idea that we’ll spend the next eight hours keeping each other awake, laughing and disturbing other passengers. I have no idea that you’re the love of my life._

_I have no idea but still, I think:_ This _is what it feels like to fall in love._

* * *

New York City. Victor hasn’t been back since the last time he was on tour two years ago. As he stands waiting at the baggage carousel, he tries not to think about the fact that he’s at JFK. 

It wasn’t his publisher’s fault, they’d always honored his request to fly into La Guardia or Newark, but he missed his flight and the last one out of Charlotte flew into JFK so here he is, in the place he hasn’t stepped foot in for almost seven years. 

The carousel empties, all his fellow passengers gone. “Great,” he says to himself before heading toward the lost baggage office. It turns out that his suitcase is still in Charlotte, but the airline assures him it’ll be on the first flight out the next morning. 

It’s late but in his midtown hotel, he runs a hot bath and pours himself a stiff drink. In the morning, he’ll have to give his greeter a list of things he needs because Victor Nikiforov is not a man desperate enough to resort to using hotel toiletries no matter how nice the hotel. 

That night in bed, he watches Yuuri Katsuki’s winning free program from the Olympics seven years ago for the millionth time. He knows every note of the music, every subtle line Yuuri creates with the slightest flick of his wrist. Victor hadn’t known much about the sport when he first saw this particular performance, but even his untrained eye could tell then that it was special, that it was different. There was something so raw and desperate about it. Beautiful the way broken things sometimes are—the reflection of sunlight on shards of glass from a shattered vase. 

He falls asleep to the roar of applause at the program’s conclusion and he dreams of warm eyes and gentle smiles.

* * *

The schedule for the next day is punishing. Awake at five-thirty, Victor takes a quick shower and does his best not to cry when he sees the state his hair has become without his haircare regimen. 

Then his greeter meets him in the lobby. He commits her name, Jessica, to memory and hands her a list and his credit card. She takes him to his first stop of the day and promises to return soon with all of his necessities. Still in the same clothes he wore yesterday, he tries not to focus on how uncomfortable he feels as he sits in the backroom, signing two hundred copies of _The Romantic’s Dictionary_ in preparation for the reading that night. 

“It’s going to be packed,” the store manager promises, handing him book after book, all opened to the right page to expedite the process.

“Great,” Victor says, his smile professional. “Looking forward to it.”

The rest of the morning is lost in a blur of signing books at various shops, but he gets a reprieve midday when his editor takes him out for lunch. 

“Victor,” she greets him with a tight hug. 

“Hi, Sara,” he says as they sit down. 

“Let’s get a bottle of red for the table,” she tells the waiter and Victor is reminded of why he loves her. 

They catch up: she tells him she’s getting married; he tells her he’s working on the next book. The first is happy news, the second is a lie. But Victor enjoys himself and when they say goodbye, he gets a promise out of her to bring her fiancee to the reading later that night. 

He’s not surprised when the airline calls him to tell him that his baggage is now in Chicago of all places and he has to reschedule an interview in the afternoon to go shopping. Well, he didn’t _have_ to, but he’s Victor Nikiforov, so he had to. 

He eats dinner in the car on the way to the reading, listening to Jessica tell him stories about the other authors she’s worked with as a greeter. He wonders if he’ll be one of these stories but isn’t too bothered—she’s effusive in her praise and sounds perpetually awestruck. And when they pull up to the bookshop, she shyly pulls out a well-worn copy of _The Romantic’s Dictionary_ , which he happily signs. 

Entering through the back, he emerges before the audience almost as if by magic. The crowd roars and surges forward, straining against the roped off area.

New York City. The only place that can make him feel like a rock star.

He has the entries flagged in the book and when he sits down to read, a hush falls over the room. 

 

_Effortless, adj.,_

_“Let’s dance,” you say, even though there’s no music._

_“No,” I say, shy._

_“Come on.” You hold out a hand and gently pull me toward you. Everyone’s staring at us, everyone probably thinks we’re crazy, but none of that matters because you’re twirling me even though I’m taller, and when you dip me, I’m unafraid. In your arms, I’m safe. From the way you hold me, I feel treasured, like I’m something precious you don’t want to lose._

_This is easy, I think, and I never want it to end._

 

_Sparkling, adj.,_

_Your eyes. Your smile. The way I feel next to you._

 

_Oblivious, adj.,_

_“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met,” I say._

_“What?” you say, eyes wide._

_I say nothing further but secretly, I think you know. Because how could you not?_

 

_Fight, n., v.,_

_“Olives are disgusting,” you say._

_“I don’t think we can be friends,” I say._

 

_Oblivion, n.,_

_If someone had told me yesterday I’d willingly lie down on dirt and grass, I’d laugh them out of the room, but here we are in Central Park lying next to each other, our hands twined. You are such a surprise, not because of the things you say or do, but because of the things I say and do when I’m with you._

_The stars above are faded, their light losing the war with the city that never sleeps. You tell me stories about made up constellations, and I giggle and snuggle in closer. You kiss me, just a peck, and it’s so intimate that I blush. A quick peck, casual, like we do it all the time. A kiss hello, a kiss goodbye, a mundane sort of kiss that’s usually earned only through spending years together._

_When I was a kid, I used to look at the stars at night and feel so very small and so very alone. I thought I’d grow out of it but I never did. It’s the source of all my ambition: I want to outrun the clock and leave a legacy that will survive me._

_But here with you, I don’t feel so small. Here with you, oblivion is just an idea and for one night, I am free._

 

Victor finishes reading to great applause. The store manager from earlier—John-John?—pulls up a chair next to him, and he takes a deep breath, resigned to the conversation portion of the evening. They’ve set up a microphone at the center and audience members who won some sort of lottery form a line behind it. 

It’s all the same questions he gets everywhere: will there be a sequel, do they meet up in six months, was this based on something that happened to him. When the line finally, finally empties, he stands up, ready to thank everyone and say his goodbyes, but someone calls out his name. 

“I have a question,” Yuuri Katsuki says, off to the side, leaning with his shoulder against a bookcase. He clearly didn’t win an opportunity to ask Victor a question and bookstore staff are trying to cut him off before others begin to shout questions at Victor and the crowd turns into a mob. 

“Wait,” Victor says to the manager. “It’s okay. I’ll answer one more question.” People shoot Yuuri dirty looks but he seems unfazed. 

“Do you think love like that exists?” he asks. 

It’s been seven years since they’ve been in the same space, since he’s seen Yuuri on anything other than a screen.

“What do you mean?” Victor asks, breathless.

“Do you think love like the love you depict in your book exists? For us mere mortals?” he says, expression coy and Victor finds himself blushing. He hopes no one’s recording them, but he knows this moment will probably end up on YouTube by tomorrow morning.

“I don’t know, Yuuri. Why don’t you tell me?” he replies.

Gasps and murmurs travel through the store. _Is that Yuuri Katsuki, the figure skater?_ , people are whispering but Victor ignores them. 

“I don’t know either,” Yuuri says. “But I’m holding out hope that it does.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY KAJA!!! <3
> 
> I'm [eternalsunshine13](https://eternalsunshine13.tumblr.com/) and Kaja is [kaja-skowronek](https://kaja-skowronek.tumblr.com/). Go wish her a happy birthday!
> 
> Special thanks to both Kaja and [Voxofthevoid](https://www.voxofthevoid.tumblr.com/) for their encouragement, I love you guys.


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